


Fortune Knows No Crowns

by Copperspecks



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Slave Trade, Slow Build Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Threats of Rape/Non-Con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2015-04-26
Packaged: 2018-03-25 22:36:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3827485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Copperspecks/pseuds/Copperspecks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Triskelion is a reminder that an King can become a slave, and even a slave can rise to a king. </p><p>Stiles is only a young omega when he discovers a mysterious strangers stealing one of the boats docked on the river. He soon realizes the stranger is Prince Derek, planning to leave his pack behind so he could find the woman he loved. Stiles' life quickly becomes more dangerous as they both fall prey to slavers, caught in a foreign kingdom where wolves and omegas alike face danger everyday. Left without friends, family, or protection, Stiles must survive long enough to get the two of them back home—if he can save Prince Derek at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fortune Knows No Crowns

**Author's Note:**

> Based on Cynthia Voigt's "On Fortune's Wheel". More information about the warnings in the tags are in the end notes.

            The tavern was packed full with people, and Stiles was full with dinner. He sat back in his seat, eying his father at the table next to him, making sure he wasn’t eating too many slices of pie or glasses of ale. Scott sat beside him, pushing chicken around his plate with a fork and waxing lyrical about Allison.

            “It’s a terrible thing, what’s happened to her family,” Scott was saying. “Whatever Lady Katherine might have planned to do, _Allison_ didn’t have anything to do with it. And she says Queen Talia and Prince Peter don’t have any proof, or they would have executed her outright.”

            “Lord Gerard does still have supporters, though,” Stiles pointed out, glad that Scott had turned the conversation towards politics that were far more interesting than Lady Allison’s dainty wrists and milky ankles. “That’s what Father says, anyway. He’s had to devote some of his men just to keep an eye on Lord Chris.”

            That was a fact that wasn’t very private. His father made a point of conducting most of his business in the inn’s tavern, where everything was out in the open—and the innkeeper certainly didn’t mind, as law men had known appetites and even drunkards knew not to start trouble in a tavern filled with soldiers. It was his way of keeping the peace—even Lord Chris knew that his father was practically ordered to watch him, but he wasn’t going about it in a way that would make Lord Chris feel threatened. Privately, his father and Lord Chris got along. They were the same kind of man—honest, loyal, and determined to keep their children safe. It was easier for a local lawman than a man from a disgraced family to do, and his father had made it very clear he wouldn’t tolerate either Argent being harassed. Even if there were still orders to arrest Lady Katherine and Lord Gerard, should either of them try to return to the kingdom.

            “Lord Chris wasn’t one of Lord Gerard’s supporters, though,” Scott pointed out. “He and Allison came here two years ago, which was months before Lady Katherine appeared at court. Dr. Deaton says he thinks this has more to do with the fact Queen Talia ruled that the silver mines the family owned weren’t actually on their property. Lord Gerard knew it, but he thought he had covered up the papers that proved exactly where the property lines are.”

            “Dr. Deaton said that?” Stiles asked, humming. He’d have to pass that along to his father, see if it was true. Scott talked about Dr. Deaton almost as much as he spoke of Lady Allison. Stiles was glad that Scott was having the chance to apprentice with Dr. Deaton, since the man had a soft touch with humans and animals like. Still, he didn’t get to see Scott nearly as much as he liked, since he was so often busy working with Deaton or sneaking off to see Allison.

            As if on cue, the door to the inn opened and Lord Chris came in, rubbing his hands together to ward off the night’s chill. He looked around, making a beeline for his father’s table before he sat down, shaking hands with the sheriff. Scott perked up, dropping his fork and looking to Stiles with hopeful eyes. Stiles sighed, knowing what it meant—if Lord Chris was at the inn, he _wasn’t_ at home with Allison.

            “Fine,” Stiles agreed, because he was a good friend and was done with his dinner anyway. He stood up, settling his cloak on his shoulders before he went over to his father, murmuring lowly in his ear that he was heading home, and Scott would be walking with him. His father nodded, clasping him on the arm before letting him go.

The moon was high in the sky by the time Stiles and Scott went to the door together, looking all the world like they were leaving. As soon as the inn door was shut, however, Stiles stepped towards the winding path that would bring him home, and Scott was running off up the street towards the Argent’s house, built tall and proud on the hill. Stiles shook his head at his friend, wondering how long they were going to wait before they just snuck off to get married. That romance was a disaster waiting to happen—Lord Argent had certainly become distracted in the scandal that followed his father and sister becoming disgraced and fleeing the country, but that didn’t mean his daughter could marry commoner, even a doctor. Then again, if the rumors swirling about Queen Talia’s moods were true, the two of them might not be nobility for much longer.

Stiles’ musings were cut short when he noticed a dark figure darting along the path to the docks, creeping his way to the Greenburg’s boat. While Stiles didn’t have any particular love for the Greenburgs, he did know that their meager savings wouldn’t be able to replace a boat so easily. Stiles marched down to the dock, making his steps loud and obvious, giving the thief time to run away. Instead, the figure ignored him, putting his attention on undoing the mooring ropes instead.

            “That isn’t your boat!” Stiles finally shouted as he came to the dock, ready to yell his head off if he needed to. The inn wasn’t so far away—there were wolves among his father’s men, and they would certainly hear him if he called. “Boats don’t just grow on rivers, you know. They belong to men who build or buy them.”

            The figure turned, drawing himself up to his full height. Of course, Stiles was only an inch or so shorter than the man, and the dock certainly gave him at least a foot more. But the man certainly had an intimidating presence, with wide, trim shoulders that spoke only of muscle, not fat, and eyes that flashed blue from behind his hood. A dangerous wolf, then. “Shut up,” the man growled, packing quite a bit of menace into only two syllables.

            “Get out of the boat,” Stiles countered, crossing his arms over his chest. “You could be stealing someone’s livelihood. Someone who makes their money on selling the fish they catch, who has enough coin to feed his family day to day, but not enough to replace an entire damn boat.”

            The man let out a low growl, hands flexing like he was considering using them on Stiles. Stiles was glad he was far enough away that the man would actually have to climb out of the boat to reach him. “Does it belong to a fisherman?”

            “No,” Stiles admitted, caught. “But it _could_. That’s the point, you don’t know.”

            “Maybe I need it,” the man snarled back. “Maybe you don’t know.”

            “Maybe I don’t,” Stiles agreed. “But I’m not the one stealing. And I think that as a law-abiding citizen, that gives me the right to—”

            There was a burst of sound from the village, a group of men spilling out of the tavern. Not his father’s men—these men were singing bawdy songs loudly, their voices rolling enough that Stiles could practically see them all leaning together, moving down the street in a stumbling, drunken tangle. Stiles turned towards the noise, wondering if this was the point he should call out, when hands were reaching out and grabbing him, a strip of cloth going across his mouth before he could react. Stiles tried to kick out, but the man had him pinned to the deck in an instant, shoving his face against the worn wooden boards as he tied Stiles’ arms, then his legs, then bundled him up in his cloak. “If you don’t stay quiet I’ll slit your throat,” the man hissed into Stiles’ ear before he was shoving him through the door.

Stiles tumbled down the stairs, landing on the deck below. He gasped around the gag, feeling like his chest was frozen. He lay there, curled up until he finally managed to take a breath, greedily sucking in the air as fast as he could. Distantly, he heard the boat scraping past the dock, felt the boat give a lurch.

            This was … not a good sign. He wriggled his fingers in the knots—he hadn’t even been tied with rope, it felt too smooth, more like some kind of fabric. But it held tight, even as he tried twisting, he could find enough give to allow his hands to slip out of the bonds. He squinted, but he couldn’t see anything in the dark of the lower deck, just the barest sliver of silver around the door frame up the stairs, the moonlight too weak to do any bit of good. He started wriggling around, trying to find something that could help him. The entire hold smelt strongly of fresh fish, which wasn’t exactly a pleasant smell to be trapped with. He felt a few things, but none of it was sharp or hard enough to be of any use to getting out of his bonds. He turned his attention to working the gag out of his mouth, trying to open his mouth a bit wider while he tried to work it out with his tongue and by nudging the cloth with his shoulder. By the time he had drool soaking his chin Stiles gave up and just rolled onto his stomach, hoping the man wasn’t going to make good on his threat and simply dump Stiles over the side. He didn’t want his dad to have to fish his corpse out of the river—his father barely survived his mother’s death.

            Stiles could see the early rays of dawn streaming around the cracks of the doorframe when the door finally swung open. Stiles rolled onto his back, staring up at the man, silhouetted by the pale morning light. He had taken his cloak off, at some point, and Stiles could see the fluffed-up shape of his hair, and the trim line of his stomach. The man wasn’t flashing his eyes anymore, and Stiles would take the small mercies as they came.

            “Come on,” the man said after he spent a few uncomfortable moments staring down at Stiles, stomping down the stairs just so the man could pull Stiles right back up. It wasn’t until the man had sat him on the upper deck and started undoing his knots that Stiles could properly see him. He wasn’t as old as Stiles had expected him to be—he still had cheeks rounded with baby fat, a dusting of stubble that made it clear he intended to attempt a beard. He had thick, severe eyebrows and the handsome tanned skin that all the Hales—

            Stiles gaped, staring at him. This wasn’t a common criminal, stealing boats and kidnapping omegas. This was _Derek Hale_. Son of Queen Talia, second to the throne, the center of the most recent courtly scandal. “Your—your highness,” Stiles stuttered out as Derek slipped the gag out of his mouth, but the wolf only glared.

            “No,” he growled, his eyes flashing blue for a moment. “You’re not going to call me that, or we’ll be found out.”

            “I can’t just call you by your name!” Stiles protested, and Derek shot him a look that made it clear Derek agreed with him. “How about ‘my lord’?” Stiles asked, and after a moment’s consideration Derek seemed to agree.

            The wolf sat back on his heels, staring at Stiles for a long time before his nose flared. “You’re an omega,” he realized aloud, and shot a glance over his shoulder like he expected rescuers to be charging after them down the river. “How old are you?”

            That wasn’t a wrong thought, exactly, because his father was protective. But his father also wouldn’t know he was gone until he came home from the inn, and a kidnapping from the river was not something he would immediately suspect. “Yes, my lord,” Stiles said, hoping his reply was polite enough. Lord Chris and Lady Allison were the only nobility he had ever had to speak to in the past, and they were more interested in keeping their heads on their shoulders than insisting all the locals addressed them properly. “Fourteen years.”

            “You’re a child,” Derek said flatly. “What were you doing, chasing after this boat? Does it belong to your family?”

            “No, my lord. But I do know the family, and my father is the Sheriff of the town. I couldn’t let it pass, either.” Stiles rubbed at his arm, turning to look at his surroundings, alarmed to see that he didn’t exactly recognize where he was.

            “You should have. You’re an omega, you can’t be running after strangers,” Derek said, like that solved everything. Stiles imagined it was simpler, being a Hale. Technically, everyone in the kingdom was part of the Hale pack, but it was a pull you don’t really feel unless you were in the presence of the Hale family themselves. Everyone in town defaulted to the highest authority—usually his father or Lord Argent. But in court, there was a solid pack structure, where everyone knew their place, and omegas stayed in the background. Only the richest families could afford to have their omegas do that out here. Even though the Stilinskis were far from destitute, Stiles had slowly started taking on more and more responsibilities so his father could focus on his work.

            “I’ll definitely note that in the future, my lord,” Stiles said, doing his level best to keep any trace of sarcasm out of his voice. “Pull over to the riverbed, I can see the road from here, and I can be back at home by evening, safe and sound, and then you won’t have to worry about me.”

            That had Derek sitting back on his heels, his eyes narrowing. “No.”

            Stiles stared at Derek for a long time, not quite understanding what he had said. “No, my lord?” Stiles finally repeated. “But I have to get home.”

            “And I have to get away from home,” Derek growled, his expression seeming to tighten before Stiles’ eyes. “They’ll have noticed I’m gone by now, they’ll be trying to track me. That’s why I took the boat—my scent won’t carry over the water.”

            “And why does that mean you can’t drop me off?” Stiles demanded, “My lord?”

            “Because they’ll come across you, and you’ll tell them all about me running off, and they’ll know what I’m going to do. And don’t try to promise you won’t,” Derek added, holding up a hand when Stiles opened his mouth. “You will if my mother orders you to, or if _Peter_ gets involved.”

            Stiles couldn’t very well argue with that. He had heard stories about Prince Peter, the wolf who rode at his sister’s left hand. He was ruthless, but he was smart about it. In Stiles’ opinion, that was the most terrifying thing of all. “What are you going to do with me? You’re going to tie me up again and drown me?” Stiles asked, and he didn’t add ‘my lord’ to that. He wasn’t going to be polite to a murderer. Derek had killed before, it shown in his eyes.

            “What? No,” Derek said, looking scandalized at the very idea. “You’re harmless, it’s your information that makes you a problem. I’m going to Kensington, where this river lets out into the sea. I’m going to book a passage on a ship to the south, but you don’t need to come with me. I’ll find someone to bring you back home in the city, I have more than enough coin for both our trips,” Derek said, pulling out a purse filled to the brim with gold coin.

            “Keep that hidden,” Stiles hissed, his eyes wide. “My lord, if the wrong people see that, they’ll take it from you. They won’t care who you are, either.” Stiles … didn’t agree with Derek’s plan, but he had to admit it was a bit exciting. He had never properly left their tiny little town, though he had begged his father to take him to the city ever since he could talk. And if Derek was agreeing to pay for everything… “Why do you want to go south?” Stiles asked instead. He knew wolves didn’t leave their pack easily, and he hadn’t heard any rumors that Queen Talia was a cruel Alpha. In fact, the Hales were spoken of fondly, a true family that cared more about the good of the kingdom than politics.

            “That is none of your business,” Derek growled, but he hid the purse again. “And don’t question me. I know what I’m doing.”

            Stiles seriously doubted that. From what he recalled, Derek was a young man himself, only about twenty-one years old. Of course, he knew plenty of young men and women in the village who had already started families and were working at that age, but none of them charged off to steal boats and run away to the south, either. “Of course, my lord,” Stiles said, giving a stretch before he turned to inspect the ship. It looked to be in decent working condition, and Derek clearly knew how to steer it. “I’ll see about finding us some breakfast.” Derek’s brows furrowed, but he didn’t stop Stiles from going back down the stairs into the lower deck, having his own look around.

            There wasn’t much more than he had felt out when he was tied up. Some netting, some piles of rope. But there was a sturdy box in one corner, filled with some salted meat and hard bread, even a few pieces of cheese, all wrapped up. It would likely give them a day and a half of meals—and Stiles knew that Kensington was at least another three days away. He took enough food to merit a breakfast and came back up above deck, glad they had nets to use. “We’ll want to start fishing this afternoon,” Stiles said, sitting down after he had handed Derek his own breakfast portion. “Unless we want to eat fish for several meals straight. It’ll be easier to break it up now.”

            Derek stared suspiciously at him. “You’re going to eat fish raw?” he asked Stiles, raising one of his ridiculous eyebrows. “I’m not going to pull this boat over to the side to start a fire while you run away.”

            “I’m going to eat fish cooked in the sun, my lord,” Stiles corrected, viciously tearing off a piece of hard bread with his teeth. Dull and human teeth, mind, but Stiles had never had a problem with them before. “I wouldn’t want us to stop, besides. The sooner we get to Kensington, the sooner I can go home.” And Stiles did want to go home, because adventure or not, he wasn’t going to draw out worrying his father any longer than Derek forced him to.

            Derek seemed to accept his answer and finished his breakfast in silence. Derek did most things in silence, Stiles quickly discovered. The few times Stiles had tried to draw the prince into conversation, Derek had only put up with so much of Stiles’ talking before he growled him into quiet—no matter how many different ways Stiles tried to find out why Derek was leaving his pack behind, Derek never said a word. And the prince was complete rubbish on the boat—he could steer, sure, but he left Stiles to netting and cooking the fish alone, though he certainly seemed content to eat what Stiles had prepared. It was part of being royalty, Stiles supposed. They spent most of the trip like that, though Derek preferred to sleep above deck when Stiles went below. Part of that was likely some sense of decorum—Stiles was a young omega, after all, and Derek was unbonded. It would have been obscenely improper. He was going to be the talk of the town, when all of this was over. Stiles may or may not have been a bit gleeful at the idea. All in all, the trip on the river was quite boring, and Stiles was going to have to think of ways to spice it up. The most exciting part was when he tried to wash himself near the side of the boat and fell in, making Derek haul him back up, soaking and spluttering. Still, neither of them smelled after that adventure, so Stiles counted it as a win.

            By the time they reached Kensington, Derek’s silence had grown tense and anxious. Stiles tried to ignore it, gently pointing out what docks they should go to, that Derek should take out some coins before they reached land, so he wouldn’t need to pull out his full purse every time they needed to pay someone. Stiles drew his own cloak over his shoulders, not wanting to draw any attention to himself. He’d stay tucked in Derek’s shoulder, his silent companion as he made the arrangements to get both of them where they needed to go. He would go home, Derek would go south, and everyone would be happy.

            They never made it to the end of the dock.

            “Aren’t you two an odd pair?” Stiles didn’t turn his head, but his eyes darted to their right, taking in the group of sailors hanging around the gangplank of their ship. Derek—because Stiles was increasingly suspecting that life in the court had taught the prince nothing of how to function around people who didn’t know he was royalty—continued walking, only stopping when three of them peeled off from the group, coming in front of them. Stiles didn’t have to look behind him to know the rest were circling them. “It’s rude to ignore people who are talking to you, boy,” one of them sneered to Derek.

            “My apologies,” Derek said flatly, the derision clear in his tone. “I wasn’t aware you were talking to me, seeing as my comings and goings are none of your business.”

            “My lord,” Stiles whispered frantically. “ _Shut up_.”

            “And who’s this?” one of the men said, tugging on Stiles’ cape, making him stumble closer to the group. “This can’t be your brother, are you two lovers? Running away from home because his father turned down your offer? He’s a bit young, innit?”

            “Doesn’t need to be that old,” another sailor pointed out, and that had Derek whirling around, his eyes flashing blue. The men only laughed, and another voice carried down from the top of the gangplank.

            “What’s going on here?” Stiles turned his head to look, and saw red eyes glaring down at them. Their owner didn’t look like he was angry at the sailors harassing them—more like he was annoyed there was a disturbance in the first place.

            “We’ve got some runaways, sir,” the man holding Stiles’ arm said, letting him go. Stiles quickly stepped closer to Derek, returning his eyes to the deck, trying to get his heartbeat under control. The last thing he wanted to do was look like _prey_. “They came from that dingy over there,” another man added, pointing at the Greenburgs’ boat. “Likely their parents don’t know they’re here.”

            “Is that so?” the man asked, tilting his head to the side as he studied them. Derek stared back, and the man laughed. “Bring them on up, then. The captain will want to speak with them.”

            “Let go of me,” Derek growled, but some of the men’s eyes flashed blue themselves, and Stiles didn’t try fighting when he knew he didn’t stand a chance. It only took a minute for them to be dragged up onto the ship, and none of the people walking the docks even gave them a second glance. Derek was still kicking and lashing out with his claws, but it wasn’t long before they had him gagged and restrained.

            “But you’re a good one, eh?” the bald Alpha had asked, tugging off Stiles’ hood so he could pet a hand through Stiles’ hair, laughing when Stiles flinched. “You know how things go.” Stiles didn’t reply, just silently followed the man into the belly of the ship, to the captain’s quarters. His father had always taught him the same thing—once you’re caught, don’t fight. Act like you’re subdued, then run at the first chance. Get their guard down before yours goes down.

            The captain was not who Stiles was expecting. He was blind, for one, settled in his chair with pale, milky eyes. But he was an Alpha, that much was clear from the way they gleamed smoky red at Derek’s growl. “My first mate informs me you’re runaways,” the captain said, leaning forward on his elbows. The man couldn’t see, but Stiles felt thoroughly studied. “It’s not too often a wolf and a human omega run away together.”

            The captain’s accent sounded like one from the northwest, across the sea. Which was perfect, it seemed, because he clearly didn’t recognize Derek. Stiles leapt at the chance to tell them a story that wouldn’t get them both killed. “My father doesn’t care for wolves, sir,” Stiles said before anyone could reach for Derek’s gag. “We thought we’d come to the city, get married. Then he couldn’t keep us apart, sir.”

            “And you stole your family’s boat,” the captain said, smiling at him indulgently. “Still, I suppose that means no one knows you’re here.” Stiles hesitated, giving the captain a wary eye that wasn’t entirely false, then nodded. “Ennis,” the captain said suddenly, sitting up in his chair. “Why don’t you show these two to one of the holding cells in the cargo hold? I’m sure we can give them a little trip for a honeymoon. They’ll fetch a pretty penny when we land.”

            Derek stiffened, and this time his face shifted entirely, making a move to lunge at the captain. “What about this one?” Ennis sneered, sniffing at Stiles’ neck. “Should we give him his wedding night, then?” Derek gave another lunge, this time towards Ennis. The Alpha only gave Derek a vicious smile, one that showed all of his teeth as he pulled Stiles closer to him.

            “Now, now, Ennis,” the captain said mildly. “You know he’s worth more untouched. You are untouched, aren’t you boy?”

            “Yes,” Stiles said quickly, glad the words were true. “I am, sir.”

            “And he sounds young, we aren’t off at sea yet. You shouldn’t be desperate already,” the captain continued, and Ennis clearly suppressed a growl of his own. But he still shoved Stiles away from him, and they were pulled from the room by the other soldiers. They were led deeper into the ship, past leering crew members, into the hold. It was cold, and damp, and Stiles and Derek were quickly thrown into the cells along one curving side of the ship. Separate cells, Stiles couldn’t help but notice. No doubt to make sure Stiles kept his worth up.

            “Come to the bars,” Stiles said once the men had gone, groping in the dark. There were bits of light, streaming in through some crack or porthole somewhere above, but it didn’t do much help until his eyes adjusted “I’ll get off the knots.”

            Derek grunted, and Stiles could hear him shifting until he felt the warmth of his body press against the bars dividing their cells. Stiles groped in the dark, lifting up Derek’s cloak until he could get at the bonds on his hands, picking at them until he could relax the bonds enough for Derek to slide his hands free. A moment later, he heard Derek spitting out his gag. “They used wolfsbane rope,” he said after a moment, which certainly explained why Derek hadn’t been able to break free. “Why did you tell them that story? Why didn’t you—”

            “My lord,” Stiles hissed urgently, not sure if they were entirely alone. “If they are the kind of crew that would sell two young men they came across, then they are the kind who can never know who you are. If you’re lucky, they’d only try to ransom you back home. If you’re not, they’d either sell you to your family’s enemies or they’d decide you weren’t worth the trouble and kill us both to keep us silent. They haven’t searched us yet, which gives us a chance. Look for somewhere to hide your purse, before they do a proper search. Have you a knife?”

            Derek was silent, but Stiles could hear the gently clink of coins. He saw the blue glow of Derek’s eyes, and wondered if he could see through the dark as easily as if it was day. “No knife,” Derek said after a pause. “I have my claws, what do I need a knife for?”

            “Good. They’ll find my knife,” Stiles said. He always had one on him, in case he needed it. It was something else his father had insisted upon. “We’ll let them find it, so they don’t get suspicious. They’ll expect to find _something_.”

            Derek’s voice was closer, the next time he spoke. Stiles leaned back against the bars, not surprised to find Derek leaning there as well. “You’re an omega,” Derek said shortly. “You should have a knife, especially around this lot.”

            “They’re not going to touch me, I don’t think. Not when their captain ordered them to.”

            “But what about if they sell you?” Derek hissed. He sounded odd, slurred almost, and Stiles suddenly realized he was speaking around his fangs. “Do you know what happens to omega slaves in other lands?”

            “I _do_ know, as a matter of fact,” Stiles replied flatly. The Hales didn’t allow slaves in their kingdom, human or otherwise, but they shared borders with rulers far less discerning. It wasn’t unheard of for small groups to sneak over the border, snatching up travelers if they thought they could go undetected. Clearly, it was a practice the captain was familiar with. “And there’s nothing we can do about it now. They’re not going to let me keep the knife, I’m not going to try and hide it now.” Stiles’ words were calm, but he was shaking. He refused to think about what was waiting for him when the ship took off and reached its destination. He couldn’t panic, he had to keep a clear head. It was the only way to get through this.

            “I’m sorry I got you into this.” Derek’s words were mumbled, but his hand snuck through the bar, reaching out to squeeze Stiles’ shoulder. “I shouldn’t have—I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.” Stiles didn’t reply, though he leaned his head against the bars. He knew he was something the prince hadn’t counted on when he ran. Not that Stiles put very much stock in the prince’s plans—clearly he didn’t know what he was doing.

            When the ship finally set sail, they could feel it. There was yelling, from up above, and the wood around them creaked and groaned. The ship began to roll and pitch in a way it hadn’t on the dock, and Stiles was very careful to keep the bucket he found in the corner of his cell from tipping over. As Stiles predicted, the men came down to search them once they were at sea, taking Stiles’ knife and the bread he had kept in his pocket. Derek had tried to fight when they came into his own cell, but Ennis had simply entered the cell, grabbed Derek by the throat, and squeezed. He kept him pinned like that while his men confiscated the coins he had left in his pocket, and the small bundle of meat Stiles had made him before they left the ship.

            “A few gold coins, eh? Is that why you ran off? Your father’s a rich man,” Ennis sneered down at Derek, only letting a bit of air in to keep him from choking. Stiles whimpered from his cell, not wanting them to stop suspecting their story. “Couldn’t handle someone telling you ‘no.’ You’ll get nothing but that now, whelp,” the Alpha sneered before he released Derek, leaving the hold without another backwards glance. One of the men shoved a bowl at Stiles—thin gruel, and bread even harder than what he had had in his pocket. Stiles carefully picked the maggots out of it, warning Derek to do the same once the wolf had caught his breath. They left the two of them in the dark. Stiles was only glad they were allowed to keep their cloaks—the sea spray seemed to make everything colder in the damp.

            Derek scratched notches in the wall with his claws, letting them keep track of how long the voyage lasted. The men came once a day, shoving the same meal at them, occasionally making a lewd comment about Stiles, laughing when Derek tried to break through the bars. They let Stiles out, giving him the opportunity to empty his bucket, having him do the same with Derek’s so they didn’t have to let the wolf out of the cell. It was disgusting, but Stiles had done worse, and it gave him a chance to go up to the porthole, and look out before he tossed the waste overboard. They had been sailing for six weeks before he saw a glimmer of land through the porthole, and the sailors around him laughed.

            “Either of you boys ever been to the south?” one of the sailors asked one day, his hand lingering on the back of Stiles’ neck for a moment too long before he shoved him back into the cell. “You’re in the Calavera kingdom now. They just _love_ wolves and pretty omegas down here,” he had added, causing the other men to laugh as they left, satisfied with their torment.

            “Did he say the Calaveras?” Derek asked, and his voice sounded hopeful. It sounded _eager_.

            “Yes, my lord,” Stiles said with a frown, drawing his cloak around him. “Why is that good news? Queen Araya has been known to hunt wolves down for sport in her court.”

            “I know that,” Derek said, sounding impatient. “But this is where Kate came, when she left with her father. They came to see Queen Araya. I can’t believe I ended up here—this must be fate,” he added, and if Stiles had been talking to Scott instead of Derek, he would have send his tone had turned dreamy.

            Stiles very carefully counted to three. “My lord,” he said weakly. “Is this why you wanted to come south? To find Lady Katherine?”

            “Yes,” Derek said slowly. “She—she is very important to me. I swore I’d come find her when she and her father left my kingdom.”

            “And you are aware of _why_ she and Lord Gerard were forced to leave?” Stiles hissed, anger flaring up. “Because she was conspiring to murder your family?”

            There was a bang against the bars, and Stiles flinched back in surprised, turning to see cold blue eyes burning at him. “She wouldn’t do that,” Derek growled lowly. “It was a misunderstanding.”

            “You’re an idiot,” Stiles snarled back after a pause. “I thought you were just—I wasn’t sure why you were running. I didn’t think you were thinking with your knot and chasing after someone just because she lifted up her skirts for you!”

            “Shut up!” Derek roared, and the bars gave a quiver as if Derek had thrown himself against him. From the flash of claws Stiles saw reaching into his cell, he was quite sure Derek had. “You don’t know her!”

            “I know what I heard her own brother and niece say about it,” Stiles hissed. “I can’t believe you’ve—we’re going to be sold, do you understand that? Are you telling me that that is worth _Kate Argent_?”

            Derek was quiet for a moment. “I know you’re scared,” he said eventually. “But I’m going to find her, and when she takes me in, I’ll have her look for you too. She’ll save us both. You’ll see.”

            “Yes my lord,” Stiles said bitterly, slumping back against the wall of his cell. “We’ll see.”

            They spent their last few hours in silence—and for once, it was Stiles grateful for the quiet. This time, when the men came into their cells, and reached for them, it was Derek who went calmly, and Stiles who flinched back, trying to get away. Derek had drawn out his bag of coins halfway through the voyage, counted out half of them, and had given them to Stiles. Stiles had done his best to hide them wherever he could—into the folds of his clothing, the lining of his cloak and boots. He had shown Derek to do the same, and prayed that they wouldn’t all be found, and that he could at least barter them wherever they landed. Now they felt heavy on his body as they were marched out of his ship, iron clamped onto his wrists as they were led towards the market place right off the docks. Derek’s cuffs were clearly lined with wolfsbane—Stiles could see where it was irritating his skin raw—but the prince held his head high. Ennis turned away from the side of the market filled with the shouts of vendors and smells of cooking food, and led them down a narrow row filled with cages stuffed with people. The smell was terrible, and everyone had dead eyes.

            Stiles looked down at his feet.

            Ennis stood them at a corner, leaned back, and waited. Stiles automatically moved back against Derek, furious at him or not. It didn’t matter if he was angry, he was about to be sold. He was receiving plenty of looks—and Derek was too, because the wolfsbane on the metal collar around his neck was irritating him enough that his eyes were blue. They both had to endure hands poking them, prodding them, inspecting them. Stiles was young, _Look at his mouth_ , people whispered. Derek was strong, _And proud, might be fun to break him_.

            Luckily—and Stiles was willing to take luck where he could find it—Ennis had set a high price for him. A price he wouldn’t budge on, because he knew Stiles could fetch it. There was one man, tall and pale, with dark hair and glass lenses hanging off his face, that seem interested. Stiles didn’t like the cruel flash of his eyes, knew from the way Derek had tried shift in front of him meant the wolf had noticed it too. The man was bargaining with Ennis, trying to knock down the price, when a woman stepped up.

            She was tall, and pale, dark curls framing both sides of her pretty face. And she was interested in _both_ of them, it was clear from the way her eyes traveled over them. “How much for the set?” she asked Ennis, ignoring the other man completely.

            “For both? Forty gold crowns, fifteen for the wolf, twenty-five for the omega,” Ennis replied, grinning widely. The woman hummed, her eyes darting between them assessingly. “That’s a pity, I don’t think I can quite justify that. No matter how handsome you are,” she said, patting Derek’s cheek before she turned her attention to Stiles. “Is he a virgin?” she asked Ennis, pulling at Stiles’ jaw so she could study his teeth.

            “Verified,” Ennis agreed with an easy nod. “Young, sturdy. Obedient as any omega should be, too.”

            “These clothes come from the north—I assume they’re caught, not born slaves?” the woman asked, smiling in satisfaction when Ennis nodded. “Can you read, boy?” she asked Stiles directly.

            “Yes, mistress,” Stiles said softly, his eyes darting to Ennis, wondering if that was a dangerous thing to admit.

            “I’ll take him,” the woman said instantly, pulling out a purse of her own, counting out thin gold coins. “It’s so much easier to find a helper you don’t have to start from scratch with.”

            “Is that what you’re doing?” the man that had been bartering with Ennis snapped out, an ugly look on his face as he realized he wouldn’t going to be able to buy Stiles after all. “You’re wasting a perfectly good omega on becoming your assistant?”

            “I like having the best,” the woman replied, tossing a curl over her shoulder as Ennis slid Stiles’ chains away from the ones connecting him to Derek. “I’m sure there are other omegas at this market you can take into your bed. Besides, Mr. Harris” she added with a smirk of her own, taking the chain attached to Stiles’ collar, “We both know your wife wouldn’t let you spend twenty-five crowns on a virgin anyway. If you want her to open her purse for you, you might want to find someone who can help her in the kitchen. And give her my best,” she added with a smirk before she was turning, leading Stiles away without another word.

            Stiles looked back over his shoulder, trying to find Derek as the man stalked away. He looked uncertain, but he gave Stiles a nod, watching him back until the crowd had swallowed them up completely. Stiles swallowed thickly, turning back around to look at the bottom of his new owner’s skirts. Derek was his only connection to home, Stiles realized. And now he was gone to.

            Stiles did the only thing he could at such a revelation—he took one step forward, then another. He didn’t lift his eyes once.

**Author's Note:**

> Several characters make sexually aggressive comments about Stiles being an omega when he is younger and unwilling, but nothing comes of them. Derek and Kate have a similar relationship to what they have in canon. Stiles is fourteen at the beginning, but he is older by the end of the story, so I have not tagged underage. More tags will be explained/added as the story progresses.


End file.
